There are days away from the spoils of his own history, which involve too many things that he couldn’t fix or make better… And he thought that he was fine, that he was wasting living by rambling thru only what was true.
So he cultivated fields of dreams and fantasies whereat to unwind, to undo his belt, recline in his car, forget about his creations, and breathe…. It was in the open road. Still. Quiet. Tranquil…. Eternity sold for a dense pause in the woody clarity of a lonesome road.
In many ways, he begin to share his story in a language that is currently silent…. It is only a starlit whisper…. And so when people would call him, he would begin to pace the asphalt until the soles of his shoes were worn down…. He would promise a return to himself, a rest and release…. But then he would leave.
Then a day came, when he hiked thru his uncertainty of future and his disdain of past…. It wasn’t anything…. But he was someplace, and he didn’t hate to be there… It wasn’t the road or his home…. But it was a middle…. A mawkish wetness that overcame his body, and it freed his brain from a contemplation stretched forevermore….
But that was a dream, a death that was still in a passage that he was yet to undergo…. Consequently, he asked if this was it, in the end do we have to make peace with chaos… Accept meaning with a gun at the back of the head…. No God to answer, but he recognized that today or tomorrow can only be okay, until he changes… And he would have to be good one day at a time, and he would have to be good every day.